From the Ashes
by starryjules
Summary: A series of strangely connected tags immediately following the season finale. A look at the aftermath through each character's POV as they stand side-by-side to honor those lost. Chp1: Breena. Chp2: Jimmy/Ducky. Chp3: Gibbs/Abby. Chpt4: Tim. Chp5: Tony/Ziva.
1. 4995 wholesale

Breena Palmer was in the business of death. Just as the average person wouldn't think twice about staples and copy paper, embalming fluids and caskets were a part of her everyday life (The one before her now was the sunset bronze model, $4995 wholesale).

Even so, she was lucky enough to have lost only two people in her own life thus far. Her grandmother Pearl had gone peacefully in her sleep at the ripe old age of 95, but her cousin Lucas had been another matter. Nineteen - two years older than Breena at the time - he had wrapped his motorcycle around a tree in a horrific accident. She'd grown up at the funeral home and was already working alongside her father when he died, but she would never forget how he had sent her home while their employees prepared Lucas' body. He'd told her never to work on someone she knew; warned her she'd never get that image out of her head.

It was a curse her husband would now carry for the rest of his life.

She leans closer into Jimmy's side and laces her fingers tightly through his. She has no idea how he had been able to perform this autopsy, or the five others that had come from that horrible day. He is such a deeply compassionate man; at their wedding just seven days ago he had gone through at least a pack and a half of Kleenex, handed to him by a blessedly discreet Ducky. Others may see it as a vulnerability or weakness, but it is the part of him that she loves most - his tender heart. And that is why hers is breaking for him now. She knows that this isn't just a funeral for a co-worker. NCIS is her husband's other family, and they have lost one of their own.

Jimmy leans down then, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and turns his head into her neck so he can let out one soft, strangled sob. "I should have been there," he mumbles into her hair, and she shakes her head slightly, knowing he can feel it.

"There's nothing you could have done sweetheart," she responds quietly, squeezing his hand. "Nothing anyone could have done."

He takes a shuddering breath and nods, his cheek rubbing against hers and leaving a streak of tears behind. "I love you," he whispers fervently, releasing her fingers only to wrap an arm tightly around her waist. "Don't ever leave me."

Breena turns into the embrace and tucks her head under his chin. Her eyes trail down the line of people standing next to them; a team - a family - battered and mourning.

"I'm not going anywhere Jimmy."

* * *

**You'll learn the fate of everyone a chapter at a time, the POV shifting with each. Next up, well, Lord love a Duck! **


	2. Scotland the Brave

**Ok, so I had the best of intentions for this story. And then about a week after I posted it, I received a very, _very_ unexpected promotion at work. Opportunity of a lifetime, awesome resume-builder...and also the death of my free time! Things have finally settled down enough to return to my happy fandom life here and there, and I had to decide what to do with this story. I was just going to delete it, but I had so much of the next few chapters already written that I decided to tweak what I've got. So, while there was supposed to be a casefic and nice emotional resolution moving past the first five chapters, now it'll just be angst and the initial aftermath from the different character's POV. I hope it still works, and at least it gets my brain back in writing mode for what I'm sure will be awesome tag-opportunities coming up in JUST TWO WEEKS! :)**

* * *

Jimmy was quite certain he'd married the most amazing woman in the world. Ed had been less than thrilled with the change in plans, but most of the guests had understood and supported the abbreviated wedding. After a small lunch, he'd left Doctor Mallard strolling along the beach and returned to their room to pack, only to find Breena already there with two suitcases ready and waiting.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay here with your family?" Jimmy asked yet again, patting his pockets absentmindedly as he searched for his ticket. Breena stilled his hands, holding up three boarding passes.

"You are my family now Jimmy. I go where you go, and you go where you're needed."

His worried expression was replaced momentarily with one of joy as he leaned in to capture her lips in a quick kiss. "I'm a lucky man Mrs. Palmer."

She returned the grin, tucking the tickets safely into her purse as Jimmy glanced at his watch and then back towards the lobby. "He said he was just stretching his legs before the flight. He should be here by now..."

"Ducky is the incarnation of punctuality," she assured him. "He'll be here any minute."

"But the cab is already late. Any longer and I may have to hijack that to get us to the airport." He nodded towards an ambulance parked haphazardly to their right; two young hotel valets murmuring nearby about an older patron with chest pains.

Breena chuckled. "Well the sirens would certainly help us cut through rush hour."

"But Doctor Mallard would insist on giving me directions and we'd probably end up in the Keys," Jimmy sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I'm calling him again."

He brought the phone to his ear, turning away and plugging his other ear against the sudden onslaught of noise coming from the lobby. The phone rang just three times on his end before Breena's grip turned vice-like on his arm.

"Jimmy," she whispered.

He looked at her, then followed her gaze over to the small group huddled around the stretcher, preparing to lift it up into the waiting ambulance. The telltale chords of _Scotland the Brave_ emanated from the clear plastic bag of personal belongings that was tucked under the arm of one of the paramedics.

"Doctor Mallard!" Jimmy cried out, running over to the ambulance to see an agitated and alarmingly ashen Ducky swatting at the oxygen mask.

"Sir you know this man?" the paramedic asked, stepping aside slightly to allow Jimmy to grasp his hand.

"Yes, he's family," Jimmy panicked. "What happened?"

"He collapsed on the beach behind the hotel. Appears to have had a heart attack."

Ducky kept pawing at the mask on his face, his breathing labored as he tried to speak. "Jimmy...problem…"

"We need to get going," the paramedic urged.

"You're going to be fine Doctor Mallard. I'll go with you to the hospital."

Ducky shook his head feebly back and forth. "Explosion...Home...Dearing..."

The halting words wafted through the din of noise around them and settled in the pit of Jimmy's stomach. "What? Was anyone hurt?"

Ducky nodded, once. "Dead. See to...dead."

For the second time that day, Jimmy felt as if his loyalties would tear him in two. There was an explosion, and he couldn't help but wonder who of his friends would be among those heading for autopsy, silently awaiting his return. But neither could he leave this man, closer to him in many ways than his own flesh and blood, alone and sick so far from home.

The cab pulled up behind them, and Jimmy turned to his wife of three hours with wide eyes. "Breena, I-" he choked out before she stopped him with a hand to his cheek.

"I'll stay with Ducky, I promise. You have to go help."

She leaned in, kissing him quickly and then tucked the ticket in his jacket pocket. "Be safe and stay in touch. I'll update you as soon as I can."

She climbed into the back of the ambulance and they were off within seconds, lights and sirens blaring. He stared after the retreating vehicle for a long moment before forcefully willing himself to set aside his worry for Ducky and focusing on the task at hand. He climbed into the cab and pulled his cellphone from his pocket, scrolling down past Ducky's number to the next on his contact list. It didn't even ring once, but went straight to voicemail.

As did the next four after it.

* * *

He can't bring himself to look too long at the coffin, but instead squeezes his eyes closed and clings tighter to Breena. He tries to remember what life was like before her calm, loving presence, and he is glad that he can't picture it anymore. The first week of their marriage undoubtedly fell under the 'for worse' portion of their vows, but he had also never loved her more as she had stood beside him through it all.

She'd kept him apprised each step of the way - he'd been at airport security when she first called to inform him that Ducky had suffered a massive heart attack and required emergency surgery. By the time he'd landed at Dulles, she told him quietly that there had been complications: the doctors were working on getting a delicate graft in place, but they were worried the damage may have been too severe to repair.

It wasn't until he was standing in the hallway at Metro's Coroner's office - having just been handed a list of the deceased that were pulled from the wreckage of their own facilities - that she called again. She sounded tired, but she assured him that she was just keeping her voice low as she sat beside Ducky's bed, holding his hand. The surgery had been rough, and the recovery would take time, but the doctors were confident the older man would make it. It was a brief respite - a moment of relief that took some of the horrific sting away from the six names on the list before him, the six friends and colleagues that waited behind metal doors for his expert care. Metro's coroner offered up his personnel for the autopsies, but all Jimmy could see was Ducky's shaking head.

_Not for Caitlin. Not for Jenny. _

The elder Scot had always been insistent on caring for their fallen, and Jimmy wasn't about to let him down.

It was nearly dawn two days later when he finally left, all six autopsies completed and the bodies ready for funeral vans and grieving families. Yet he couldn't make himself go home. Breena was still in Florida and the thought of their apartment - dark and empty - did nothing to lessen the throbbing ache in his gut. Instead he reached the Navy Yard without making the conscious choice of destination, his eyes raking over the crippled building, his second home of more than seven years. Even at 5AM, he wasn't all that surprised to see the others were there, and he knew this was why he had come.

They hugged him and cuffed him on the back and answered his one word query with expressionless eyes. Dearing was dead, found by a hotel maid twelve hours earlier with a .45 in one hand and a picture of his son in the other. For the first time in his life, Jimmy had regretted the death - not out of sadness or senselessness - but pure fury. He may have been a madman and a deranged father, but it had been too easy an out for Harper Dearing, and now there was no one left to punish. The wooden faces around him spoke to their shared thoughts, their collective dilemma, and so there had been nothing left to say. Still, he found some solace - sitting there on burned and dewy grass as they watched the sun crawl up over the Anacostia - that at least they were all lost together.

* * *

**We return to the Navy Yard and Gibbs and Abby next!**


	3. Windchimes

**It feels so good to be writing again that I polished up the next chapter and am sending it your way! :) Thanks to those who've come back to this story! **

**It's short, but the next few chapters will get meatier, and I have a feeling I'll have this all posted within the week. **

* * *

"I'm throwing those damn things away when you're not looking."

She laughs as his arms wrap around her from behind, his lips trailing lightly up the side of her neck. "No you're not. You say that every time the wind shifts."

"Yeah well that's because they keep me up half the night since _someone_ insists on sleeping with the windows open."

"That'd be _you_ Jethro," Shannon admonishes, turning in the circle of his arms to grin up at him.

Gibbs shrugs, leaning in to capture another kiss before glaring up at the item in question hanging from their porch. "They sound different."

Her smile turns sad as she pats his cheek. "It's the glass from Abby's windows. It's lucky you put in bullet resistant panes after Ari, or you both would have been killed instantly."

His brow furrows, and the light of the sun flickers, the sharp edges of the spring morning starting to blur. "Shannon, I-"

She shushes him, stepping away from the warmth of his arms. She glances up at the simple chimes, brushing her hand against them and the sound of tinkling glass fills the air once more. "I _am_ glad you never took them down, Jethro. They were my favorite."

* * *

_Jethro..._

"Shannon?"

"GIBBS!"

His eyes opened, blinking several times as he tried to focus on the worried face over him.

"Don't you scare me like that again!" Abby admonished, tears streaking paths down her dirty face.

He sat up carefully and tried to shake the dazed feeling away. He took quick stock; there were cuts littering his hands and arms, and he'd be sore as hell tomorrow, but he otherwise seemed fine. "You okay?" he asked urgently, turning his attention to Abby.

"M'fine," she sniffed as he reached out a hand to wipe blood and tears from her cheek. "I think I sprained my ankle."

Gibbs stood carefully, helping her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her waist. His eyes swept the room; the walls of the lab held, but debris blocked all the light from the broken windows, and he couldn't begin to guess how the rest of the building had fared. "Can you walk? I need to get you out of here…"

She nodded, leaning heavily against him. "I'll be okay. We need to go to the squad room and check on the others," she insisted as he steered her out the door and towards the nearest stairwell.

"I'm sure they're all fine Abs."

She shook her head stubbornly. "Tim wouldn't have left the building without checking down here first. If he was still in the bullpen…" she trailed off tearily.

She had a point, and they both knew it, but he still tried to pacify her. "The explosion was ten feet from your lab, and we are okay. He will be too."

"But what about Tony and Ziva -" she continued. "We should-"

"You can barely walk," he sighed, pulling her carefully up the stairs and supporting most of her weight. "I'm getting you to the nearest stretcher."

"Gibbs!"

"Not up for negotiation." She fell silent, resigned, as fresh tears streaked down her face.

They slowly made it to the first floor landing, only to find their way blocked by a bloodied security guard. He was pointing a few straggling people further upwards as a walkie-talkie crackled in his hand.

"Frank, what the hell?" Gibbs questioned. The guard reached out to support Abby's other side as she rested gratefully between the two men.

"Got a bunch of debris and a small fire on the first floor blocking the exit Agent Gibbs. Second floor is a mess too apparently but if you go up to three, you can access the exterior Northwest staircase. They're setting up triage around back and the ambulances will be here any minute."

Abby's eyes had grown wide at the mention of fire, her arm tensing on Gibbs' shoulder, but he could almost see her smug look now that they'd be going through the squad room after all.

"Ok," Gibbs nodded, cuffing the man softly on his shoulder. "Get yourself out of here soon too." He looked up at the stairwell and shifted his hold on Abby until he was facing away from her. "Hop on Abs. You'll never make it up all these stairs on that ankle."

He saw her grateful smile from the corner of his eye as she leapt awkwardly into place, her arms wrapping around his neck. He felt something soft hit his midsection, heard the odd noise, so out of place in the swirling dust and rubble, and glanced down to see Bert still clutched in Abby's hand. A memory rose unbidden - another set of arms latched around his neck, the soft white rabbit bouncing against his chest as he carried a giggling Kelly upstairs.

He cleared his throat, kissing the arm around his neck and then wrapped his hands under her knees. "Hold on," he whispered, hoping that - somehow - the rest of his team would hear the plea too.

* * *

Abby shifts beside him again and he can tell she is growing tired of standing on one leg. The sprain had been bad enough to require a hard cast, but Gibbs doesn't bother whispering again that she should sit down. Her watery eyes are fixed on the casket, but her mouth is set in a firm, stubborn line, and he knows she will stand there beside him until the service is over.

The Chaplain drones on, and Gibbs' eyes wander away from the large crowd and across the cemetery. It is a beautiful day, a light breeze rustling through the leaves. A tinkling noise catches his ear, and he turns to a headstone about thirty yards to his left. Someone has staked a small set of wind chimes to the ground, a brightly-painted angel adorning the top. He swallows against the sudden lump in this throat as a fresh wave of emotion rolls over him, the ever-present guilt swelling up in his infamous gut.

There was nothing he could have done, that's what they keep telling him. And yet, he knows he is the one to blame. He has let his family down, and now they all have to feel their way out of the fallout.

* * *

**I did warn you this was all angst, right? :) Into the bullpen we go next!**


	4. Ring a Ring O'Roses

**Onward we go! Tim is always, without fail, topping my 'hard to write' list. I like to blame the writers for not giving enough development and attention to his character but the truth is really that I just love Tony too much so I tend to see the NCIS world through his eyes...**

* * *

The ringing was back.

Tim rarely spoke of his time in North Africa, rarely even thought about it because the memories were simply better left buried. His cursory medical check at the field hospital in Somalia had been procedural at best - between Ziva's extensive physical injuries and Tony's not-insignificant psychological ones, they'd done little more than take Tim's pulse, slap a few butterfly stitches on his cuts and send him on his way.

But he'd returned to Bethesda three days (and sleepless nights) later and all but begged for something to make the ringing in his ears stop. A closer examination revealed that one of the many blows he'd endured had ruptured his left eardrum. They had to patch it in the end - the tear too severe to close on its own - and he had suffered a small degree of permanent hearing loss because of it. He tried to tell Abby the following day (not averse to receiving a little bit of sympathy) but she had quietly let slip that Ziva was having eight toes re-broken and set. Tim never mentioned it again.

But now, the awful noise had returned with vengeance, and Tim couldn't stop the groan oozing from his lips. He reached a clumsy hand up to pat at his neck, his body screaming in protest at the movement, and his fingers came away with sticky blood.

"Son of a bitch," Tim moaned. It wasn't until he held his hand up and squinted at the bright red on his fingertips that some semblance of rational thought returned to him. He blinked quickly, trying to clear his vision and focus through the goddamn ringing to figure out what had happened.

_Work. I'm at work. We were evacuating because...the Director's car...bomb…_

Realization hit him hard and fast. He struggled to sit up, a pain shooting through his right arm, and he lay quickly back down. With a few deep breaths - and with the first faint recognition of screams and cries around him registering in the unbloodied ear - he tried to assess his injuries. The left eardrum was gone - again - and the throbbing at the back of his head had him placing good odds on a concussion. The right shoulder felt dislocated, but thanks to his scuffle with Werth a few years ago, that happened with annoying frequency. With a sigh of relief he wiggled all his toes and then carefully used his good arm to push himself into a sitting position. The world rolled dangerously, tilting far enough to the side that he surrendered the contents of his stomach in the general direction of Gibbs' desk.

_Gibbs!_

Perhaps the concussion was worse than he thought; with equal parts shame and panic, he suddenly realized the bullpen was empty. He moved quicker this time, rising unsteadily to his feet and finally taking in his surroundings.

He couldn't remember where the others had gone, but his first thought was a simple prayer that they had already evacuated. Every single window on the south side of the building was gone, and it looked like part of the roof caved in over by the elevators. His stomach heaved once more - luckily already empty - when he realized that the blast originated at the ground level in front of Abby's lab.

He stumbled forward, patting haphazardly at his pockets and looking behind him for his cellphone but only made it five steps before his feet collided with something soft. When the something soft let out a low, gurgling cry, he fell to his knees, ignoring the broken glass beneath him.

It took Tim several seconds, but he finally placed the battered woman and gaped. "Agent Marsden?" The woman's eyelids fluttered and he did his best to delicately brush the jagged rubble from her face with his good arm. "Liz it's Tim McGee. Don't worry, you're gonna be okay."

"Hard...breathe," she wheezed. His eyes trailed down to where her hand clutched feebly at her chest, and he had to swallow back more bile.

"Oh God," he whispered to himself. He took the woman's hand with his own trembling fingers, partly in comfort, but more so that she wouldn't disturb the six inch glass shard protruding from her right lung. He looked up to see that the skylights had shattered as well, and he wondered how he had escaped gravity's wrath uninjured.

"Help, we need help!" he called out, and he wasn't sure if his voice was really that weak or if he simply couldn't hear himself properly. But help was at least three stories away, and who knew what kind of condition the entrances were in. He gingerly pulled off his coat and pressed it around the wound, the warm blood quickly seeping through to stain his cold hands.

Her lips were moving again; Tim leaned down until his good ear was inches from her mouth, and he could just make out the words.

"Derr...love...Der."

"Derrick," Tim finished, his eyes falling to the hand he held. Elizabeth Marsden was on Agent Waring's team, had sat at the cubicle just behind his for nearly two years. Her fiance proposed at a Wizards game; she'd shown Tim the ring just last Thursday in the break room, fluttering her hand to make it sparkle. That same hand trembled now, the diamond dull and smeared with blood. "Derrick knows you love him. Hold on Liz…"

She let out a small gurgle, flecks of blood speckling Tim's too-close face, and the hand went limp. His eyes flicked back and forth several times - from her still fingers to her lax face. Back and forth, back and forth.

He heard a choked sob, and with some measure of surprise realized it had come up his own throat. He set the hand carefully back on her chest, using the corner of his shirt to wipe at the ring before covering her face with the stained jacket.

"McGee!"

His head snapped up and he wasn't sure if it was the quick movement or the wave of relief that had darkness tinging the edge of his vision and threatening to steal away his consciousness. Gibbs was moving slowly towards him, a hobbling Abby in tow. She hopped the last few steps and threw her arms around him as she sobbed into his bad shoulder.

"Who?" Gibbs asked hoarsely, staring down at the partially-covered body.

"Liz Marsden," Tim whispered over Abby's sobs. "Tony n' Ziva get out?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Gibbs shook his head. "Not sure. You okay?"

"Shoulder and head." Abby leaned away immediately, her face worried that she was causing him pain, but he followed her movement and kept her close at his side.

Gibbs nodded. "Northwest stairwell is clear, you two get to an ambulance."

"Boss, I can help you -"

"I'll find them McGee. I need you to stay with Abby; she busted her ankle up pretty good, and I need you to make sure they take care of her." Someone's cries for help caught Gibbs attention then, and with one more nod, he hurried off across the bullpen.

"Timmy…"

"We're gonna be okay," Tim cut in, tightening his hold on her. "We're all gonna be okay."

* * *

_We're all gonna be okay_

The words play on an endless loop in his mind, and Tim wishes he could once again cling to Abby like she now clings to Gibbs. Instead he stands on her other side, his back ramrod straight, as he watches the honor guard march into place. The strap of his sling is digging into the skin of his neck, but he doesn't bother moving to adjust it. The discomfort is a welcome distraction, an outlet for the emotions he can't yet sort through.

Agent Marsden's funeral had been yesterday. Tim stood stoically through that ordeal as well - offered his condolences to her fiance, told him that her final thoughts were of him, and accepted the man's sobbed gratitude for being with her at the end. He'd driven slowly home afterwards, trudged up the stairs into his apartment...and then stood there for five solid minutes before grabbing the nearest item (a glass, he thinks in retrospect) and hurling it across the room. The destruction had the potential for greatness had he not popped his shoulder out and in again with that first move. Instead he sunk to the ground, and that was where Abby found him an hour later after banging on his door for several minutes. She'd joined him there on the floor and listened as he sobbed incoherently into her neck about Liz and bloody diamonds and the glass shards on his kitchen floor and in the chests of dead agents. And somehow, she'd understood - even though Liz was petite and blonde and always dressed in crisp suits - she'd understood that he had watched her die and had seen Abby lying there instead.

She glances at him then, releasing one arm from Gibbs' waist to reach over and adjust the strap cutting a red mark into his neck. Her hand drops down, her fingers finding and clasping his. He squeezes it in return - his lifeline, his anchor - and prays that she won't let go for a long, long time.

* * *

**Ok...you know who's left! Time to see what happens in that damn elevator...**


	5. Let's Call the Whole Thing Off

**Well THIS went in a completely unexpected direction!**

* * *

The darkness swirled around him, a fog that refused to clear, but he could tell something was trying to break through. Or more so, someone. A voice, as familiar as his own...the tone at first seemed urgent but it took on a playful and teasing lilt as it echoed through his brain.

Ziva.

Ziva, he could see her now. In tangerine taffeta, a bouquet of white daylilies clutched in her hand...her hair swept to the side, curls cascading over one shoulder. She was winking at him from across the aisle, trying (and failing) to suppress a smirk. He knew she was amused by his ridiculous attire, and - damn her - he wouldn't be able to return the teasing jabs later because she still managed to make Breena's bridesmaid dress look hot. He was so glad he got to see it after all.

Only...

They missed the wedding. Jimmy and Ducky left them in DC, with the case and the evacuation and the…

"_Tony_!"

His eyes open slowly, reluctantly, as the tropical hues of his fantasy faded away and he was left with nothing but the harsh and flickering light of reality. "What the hell happened?" Tony mumbled, then swore again loudly as he tried to drag a hand over his face and a stab of pain ran up his wrist.

"The bomb went off and we fell. I'm not sure how far..."

He squinted up at the real Ziva then, read the worry etched into the crease of her dirty brow. "You okay?"

She answered him with an eye roll. "I'm not the one who passed out. You hit your head hard on the doors. I couldn't wake you."

"Yeah well, I'm awake now," he sighed, struggling to sit up. When he finally got his back against the elevator wall he was panting and dizzy as hell, but he pushed it away and turned to her. Ziva had a deep gash on her forehead that was bleeding freely and her arms were wrapped around her torso in a way that strongly suggested she'd taken a blow to her body. He shucked off his jacket - pulling it tenderly off the wrist he suspected was broken - and dabbed at the wound on her head. "Where else are you hurt?" he tried again, more directly.

"M'fine." She shuddered, her body sagging sideways against his. "Neither of our cellphones has a single, signal. I could not wedge open the doors, and I have not heard any voices."

"I'm surprised you didn't try shooting your way out."

She scoffed. "What in the hell possessed us to take the elevator during an evacuation?"

"I dunno, habit? But I bet good money it's the first place Gibbs will look. He'll find us sooner than any rescue team ever could."

Because she was pressed against his side, he could feel the sharp tremor run through her body. His panic spiked. "Ziva? What's wrong?"

She didn't answer for several seconds, and when she did, it was with a whisper. "Gibbs. He went to diffuse the bomb. What if…"

"It's Gibbs," Tony asserted. "The man's been blown up half a dozen times and always survives. He's fine."

"Tim and Abby…"

"Are probably standing outside with everyone else and worrying about us. I'm too sore to head slap you, so just knock off with the gloom and doom. We're all gonna be okay."

Her head dropped to his shoulder and he felt her nod. "You're right. The head injury has apparently given you wisdom."

He smiled softly, glad she was back to joking and insults. Worried Ziva scared the hell out of him. They sat in silence for a few long minutes, Tony taking the opportunity to assess the situation. He couldn't begin to guess how big the explosion was or what kind of shape the rest of the building would be in. They were heading down from the top floor to the ground level when it hit, which meant they could be just about anywhere in between with no way of knowing how much debris rested on top of them...or how much space loomed below. The thought gripped unexpectedly at his chest and he had to take a few deep breaths to push the anxiety down.

"You okay?" Ziva asked, sensing the shift.

He just nodded, "Yeah...yeah, just not a big fan of small spaces."

She gently pushed away from his side to frown up at him as if the statement confused her. "You've never had a problem before, did you? What about when we were trapped in that shipping container?"

He shook his head, but stopped quickly when the throbbing inside his skull intensified. "That was a long time ago. A lot has changed." He glanced down at her. "For you too. I'm surprised it doesn't bother you more…"

She gave a noncommittal shrug, letting her head fall back against the wall. "I was trapped in this same elevator with McGee, what only last year?"

"But you weren't wondering if the elevator was about to fall or the shaft was going to cave in on you…"

She glared over at him, "Thanks for that."

He gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry. Head injury, remember? I'll keep my thoughts to myself."

She closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly back and forth. "No, keep talking. I will go spin crazy sitting in silence."

"Stir crazy. And really? I thought I annoy the crap outta you when I ramble?"

She ignored the jest. "Tell me why."

He struggled to regain the momentum of the conversation. "Why what?"

"Why you suddenly don't like small spaces. What changed?"

He sighed, carefully wiggling the fingers on his right hand and feeling the jolt of pain - definitely broken. The question rolled around his head for nearly a minute before he gave her the simplest answer he could. "Being Agent Afloat. Between the work, the drills, the storms...I wasn't able to go above deck all that often. I'd go whole days without seeing the sky...just dingy lights and narrow metal passageways. Surrounded by hundreds of miles of water in any direction. It was the first time I really understood claustrophobia, and I thought I was gonna lose my mind. And you may remember...I didn't have much of it left to lose at that point," he met her open eyes then and offered a sardonic smile. He knew it was more than that of course; he hadn't just been trapped on the carrier, but in his own head too. No matter how hard he tried to throw himself into work or any liquor bottle within reach, he couldn't escape the crushing guilt of Jenny's death, of their team broken and scattered to the wind.

He knew this, but he didn't bother saying it. The look on her face told him that Ziva knew it too. He picked up a piece of rubble, wondering what it used to be, and turned it over in his good hand. The admission brought up another memory - one far more pleasant - so he let his thoughts drift towards it. "You know, I used to love being out on the open water. One year my dad took off to Japan a week before school was out, so I ended up going home with a buddy from boarding school. His dad had a sailboat he let us take out. It was a yacht really; the thing probably cost more than I make in a decade...it's a wonder he let us on it at all. We didn't go far, just enough to lose sight of the shore. We'd spend the day pretending we were Errol Flynn or Robert Newton…" He smirked at the sudden memory. "We swiped his dad's bottle of rum one day so we could be real pirates. That was one of my favorite summers."

"Despite the motion sickness?" she asked softly, her eyes closed again, her head now resting on tented knees.

He chuckled. "They had dramamine when I was a kid - I'm not that old." He leaned back, taking a deep breath and could almost smell the salty air. "It was the epitome of freedom to me…That's strange, isn't it? Both times it was the same - a steel hull, a bottle of booze, and water as far as the eye can see. Amazing how time and context can change...things…"

She hummed in agreement, and Tony studied her pale face carefully for a long minute. "You're not okay," he observed, reaching a hand out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The skin at her neck was cold; he used his good arm to drape his jacket haphazardly around her shoulders.

She murmured a thanks. "I'm fine. I'm just thinking."

"About?"

The smile played on her lips. "That shipper container. I was so annoyed with you for getting us trapped in there -"

"_You_ got us stuck in there," Tony interrupted. "That badass ninja shoulda been able to shoot her way out of any-" He broke off as the elevator gave a sharp shudder and dropped a good two feet, the sound of metal grinding on metal sending his heart straight into his throat. Ziva's hand shot out and he grabbed it immediately. They waited, not daring to breathe until the floor stopped shuddering beneath them.

He exhaled sharply, dropping her hand momentarily to readjust the jacket that had slipped from her shoulders. He tried to tuck it more securely around her front, but she had her arm wrapped in a stranglehold around her waist.

This time, it was only Tony's stomach that dropped. "Do you remember what hit you? Was it hard enough to do damage?" He tried to feel under her hand but she swatted him away with an impatient _tsk_. "You probably ruptured your spleen or something."

"I don't have my spleen."

"Okay then, appendix."

"No."

"Gallbladder?"

"I don't even know where that is."

He paused and thought about that for a moment. "Neither do I."

She rolled her eyes. "At worse, I cracked a few ribs, stop worrying."

He didn't stop and didn't relax, but watched her face intently for several minutes before she finally glared up at him. "I. Am. Fine! Stop staring at me and remind me what we were talking about?"

"How you got us stuck in the container."

"_You _got us stuck!"

He grimaced. "I'll make you a deal...you admit that time was your bad, but I'll take the hit on this one - it's my fault we took the elevator."

"I told you Tony, I wasn't going without you." She reached out to reclaim his hand, letting it rest between them on a broken piece of ceiling tile as she brushed her thumb across the back of it. "I was so annoyed with you that day, but it was the first time I think I really _saw_ you. You talked about your mother and piano lessons...do you remember? I can still see how your hands twitched when you said it, like you they were just itching to play again." She turned his hand over, examining it. "I regretted judging you and excluding you from dinner the night before."

"Nah. I would have given you a 'maybe' and then blown it off to go to mud wrestling. I was an ass."

"Hmmmn, you were not an ass, but we were both very different person then."

"Different good or different bad?"

"Good," she said softly, lifting her eyes from where she still played distractedly with his hand to meet his curious gaze. "Good," she repeated.

With no warning, not a hint of hesitation, she leaned forward then and gave him a swift, soft kiss. She pulled back before he could even respond, could even register the feeling of her lips against his.

"He was not a man I could love," she said, so low he had to wonder if he had heard her right.

He had all of five seconds to process her words before a deafening grinding noise tore through the air above them. _This is it_, he thought, as he heard Ziva's loud gasp beside him. He had a fleeting thought that he was glad her lips were the last thing he'd feel when the noise cut off and a shouting voice filtered down through the broken ceiling.

Tony sighed in relief, letting his forehead fall briefly against Ziva's, and he couldn't stop himself then from tipping her chin upwards to deliver his own soft kiss. He whispered in her ear, and she gave him a small smile, a nod, and a choked sob as she let her head fall back against the wall.

"Yeah! Yeah we're here!" Tony shouted back, scrambling haphazardly to his feet. "Agents DiNozzo and David! Gibbs?"

He heard the voice change direction, as if the person had turned his head to speak to someone behind him. It instructed the unseen companion to _Go get Agent Gibbs, _and Tony took his first truly deep breath. Gibbs was okay. If the boss was fine, then the rest of them would be as well.

The voice was directed towards him again, a query if they were injured.

"Banged up…" Tony yelled. "I don't think we're gonna be able to crawl out on our own."

He heard the acknowledgement, the order to _just_ _sit tight, _and he sent up a silent thanks to whoever waited above for them.

"Alright, sweetcheeks," he said, lowering himself carefully back down. "You about ready to blow this popsicle stand?"

He turned to look at her, to share the smile he was sure would match his own at the promise of a swift rescue. She was still resting her head against the wall in relief, and he reached for her again, his hand wrapping around the back of her neck.

Ziva's head lolled sideways, her body falling into him like some grotesque rag doll. The unbidden metaphor came to his mind a split second before her name rent itself from his lips as a scream.

* * *

**Not done yet folks so don't assume anything! Probably 1-2 chapters more.**

**At least now that you've read this, I can disclaim that all typos and awkward phrasings from Ziva were very very deliberate...I take pride in my spell checking! ;)**

**Thanks for reading!**


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